"And all the worse for me," retorted the Colonel. And as men gravitate toward their leading grievance, he went off at a tangent, "What do you think my feelings must be, to see my son, my only son, spooning the daughter of my only enemy; of a knave who got on my land on pretense of farming it, but instead of that he burrowed under the soil like a mole, sir; and now the place is defiled with coal dust, the roads are black, the sheep are black, the daisies and buttercups are turning black. There's a smut on your nose, Walter. I forbid you to spoon his daughter, upon pain of a father's curse. My real niece, Julia, is a lady and an heiress, and the beauty of the county. She is the girl for you." "And how about the seventh commandment?" inquired Walter, putting his hands in his pockets. "Oh," said the Colonel, indifferently, "you must mind your eye, like other husbands. But in our walk of life it's the man's fault if the woman falls out of the ranks." "That's not what I mean," said Walter. "What do you mean, then, if you mean anything at all?" "I mean this, father. She marries Percy Fitzroy in three weeks; so if I fix my affections on her up to the date of the wedding, shall I not be tempted to continue, and will not a foolish attachment to another man's sweetheart end in a vicious attachment to another man's wife?" Once more was the Colonel staggered for a moment, and, oh--as the ladies say--is it not gratifying to find that where honest reasons go for nothing, humbug can obtain a moment's hearing? The Colonel admitted there was something in that; but even humbug could not divert him long from his mania. "The only thing to be done," said he, "is to cut him out between this and then. Why, he stands five feet nothing." "That's the advantage he has over me," suggested Walter; "she is five feet eight or thereabouts, so he is just the height of her heart." The Colonel burst out laughing. "You are no fool," said he; "that's the second good thing you have said these three years. I forget what the other was, but I remember it startled me at the time. You are a wit, and you will cut out that manikin or you are no son of mine." "Don't say that, father," said Walter; "and cutting out, why, that's a naval operation, not military. I am not the son of an admiral." "No equivocation, sir; the forces assist one another at a pinch." "How can I cut him out?--there's no room, he is tied to her apron strings." "Untie him, then." At this moment, whether because Hope attracted everybody in the course of the day, or because talking about people draws them to the place by some subtle agency, who should appear in sight but Miss Julia Clifford, and little Fitzroy wooing her so closely that really he did seem tied to her apron strings. "There," said Walter, "now use your eyes, father; look at this amorous pair. Do you really think it possible for a fellow to untie those two?"